immortalized... on thin air

Lovers by E. Thor Carlson

in the beginning…

there is a rolling fog


or perhaps

it is a hovering mist


and he will fade

vanish

and be gone

and then…

there are the shadows of night


and he will be

darkly dressed

evading recognition

and as her eyes are distracted


by shooting stars

he will merge with restless shadows


and he will fade

vanish

and be gone

and she will know


the vacuum of emptiness

each moment

more bottomless than the last

while there is nothing to dam

the surge of her sorrow

and this pain probes

like a thin cold wire

so her heart shouts out

a cry of anguish

into the silent space

once inhabited by

his voice


her cry

striking a distant chord


that echoes

to fill the enveloping void

and on our doorstep lie my tears

and to our ceiling cling my sighs

and something fragile enters her soul

and she hears his footsteps

indistinct

in the chill air of dawn

but i feel i am watering tin flowers

and she utters a cry so dejected

it jerks her from her sleep


and i find you warm beside me

your secret fingers

inside my secret lips

and no breath parts us

and they shine and shimmer

while their tongues hammer

mad ecstasies

and ancient lullabies

and outside

the sea descends

from a sidewise sky

and we sink

into the wetness of its tears

that delicately necklace

about a universe morning-gowned

in glimmering amethyst and pearl

and you are thought

and you are quill

and you are ink

and i am your words

immortalized...

on thin air

The Last Days of Summer

Autumn by Carol Baumrucker

For a few more days, the bumble of bees will

flavor the air and strike our eyes with a certain

voluptuous éclat. How brief are these last days

of summer! Our summer lasted but hours,

one hundred glorious bloomings ousted by

one hundred ignoble demises.

We recited poetry from palates dense with

warm luxury and the blood of Aestes bled

over the edges of our skin. We carved a path 

in a magical forest of rocks and boulders, and

our bodies were sprinkled with diamond dust.

You told me, Listen.

I filled my ears with broken pebbles amongst

patches of sun, while the insects sang their

last falsettos. But I had no moments of sudden,

solemn shudderings… only the dissonance of

the coming loss of light. Yet, this is not a sad

lament. Tomorrow is a brand new day.

Tomorrow, our forest of rocks and boulders

will crumble and tumble and the trees will

quiver and the rain will crash and the forest

floor will be carpeted with wet golden leaves

shaped like suns and moons and stars and

the sea of it all will part for our crossing.

Three Miracles at Twilight

Dawn Chorus by Elizabeth Carolan

Watching one thousand swallows

And one

Glide

In an ellipsis of vibrating heaven,

Pausing by a shimmering tree

And another

Alchemizing

Birds into trembling leaves,

Hearing the galactic hum

And drum

Drone

The transparent cosmic spirit,

I became still. silent. sacred.

that intimacy

Hole No. 2 by Emily Eveleth

how does the question go when you ask it of yourself? what if i am not who i think i am? what if, without my knowing it, i am another? somebody dark? and bad? followed by the crushing understanding that, because you were creepy enough to even think these thoughts, you are already dark. and bad. i didn’t want to ask. i didn’t want to think about it. but you can’t undo a thought that happened inside your head. it already happened. and you are already damned. completely. utterly. in your head. in your gut. in your heart.

a moment: i am standing in front of a sheet of glass with a sheet of silver paper on its back. and i am afraid. of who? of the person that is not a person. of the human that is not human. such malheur… that i do not recognize myself. you do not recognize me, either. you can see the obliviousness in my face that is not a face that is looking at you from across the sheet of glass with a sheet of silver paper on its back so for me there is no plunging inside and trying to find an alternate reality because even if i crash the glass once i hit that silver paper i am stuck. and i. am. damned.

we become friends. through this glass window with a sheet of silver paper on its back. for days, we look at each other. size one another up. from different angles. perspectives. with the usual trepidation. and venom. and angst. you invite me over. i invite you over. a simple hand gesture. no words necessary. we know each other too well.

a memory: there was a day. i was walking around. looked to the side. over my shoulder. and someone looked back. but i didn’t stop. i kept walking, and – oh! – who was that? who was that looking at me with as much curiosity as only i have for myself? and that was when i realized it was me. it lasted a split moment… this obliviousness to myself… this lack of recognition. i had to think before i understood. before i realized. and i said to myself, i shouldn’t be looking at myself. and you said, because that is how you become dark.

you try to disengage yourself. from the image. from the darkness that lies inside it… behind it… beyond it. the silver paper is only silver on the side facing you. but it is black on the other side… where you don’t look. it’s like a scary dream where the walls are fluid and the floors are hilly and there are no holes or vents anywhere and you want to breathe but can’t and you want to scream but your lips are sewn together and you try to decipher but there is a coating of glue over your eyes and there is a shadow that you cannot see and a voice that you cannot hear and both of them are in your gut and are screaming run! and you know that that would be futile because there. are. no. outs.

you see yourself. and you don’t know. that you know. it’s you.

i make a game of it. i stand to the side of the glass window. you stand to the side. i stretch out my hand. you stretch out your hand. i steal a glance from the front… then check the back. you ditto. what am i looking for? stop fucking with me. but i must look. there is nothing there. only the black back of the silver paper. i pull myself away. i forget this thing. or try to forget it. dismiss it as folly. and imagination. but it is quite the game, isn’t it? a very clever game… like a twisted arithmetic… and it is not to be dismissed. why don’t you play it, then? i say. you have a glass window, too. meet with your glass window. but these meetings are sudden encounters… where something happens… something you had not counted on. you see something. something you know you can’t unsee. you can’t undo a thought that happened inside your head, remember? no. you can’t. it is there. and if you tell yourself it isn’t, you have already started to lie.

i lie. and i am good at it. you don’t catch on. and you won’t. because just as realization is beginning to paint your eyes, my eyes trick with a look that will make you change your mind… SNAP! just like that. i play the innocent so well. don’t you know me, by now?

i remember everything. that is why i am bad. no. not because i remember. but because i pretend to forget. i tell myself i don’t believe what my eyes are telling me. but i live with the memory of what my eyes saw on the other side. what i saw when i said that there was nothing there. the memory: it crashes into me like a train… and smears bits of me everywhere… like stains.

but i forget one thing: that i lied. if you tell the same lie enough times, even you start to believe it.

i keep forgetting to shut the fuck up. i keep forgetting to swallow my words. but even when i think silently, i think with my lips open. and the words slip out… from inside my gut… and disappear in the air… but not before they have tainted me… stained me… and you… forever.

i don’t dare move. i don’t dare. if i move… i will thrash and kick and scream… like a crazed animal… like an infant who has been wronged but can’t express that anguish. if i thrash… i might come closer. and, then… you will come closer, too. we will be together in a unique way… a way that only you and i can be together. but. you know. there is no coming back from that intimacy.